


Psychology

by TheXWoman



Category: Ashes to Ashes
Genre: Angst, F/M, Flirting, Gen, Humor, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-18
Updated: 2010-02-18
Packaged: 2018-05-18 12:51:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5929123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheXWoman/pseuds/TheXWoman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There were unspoken rules in Luigi's. And one of those happened to be, no bloke was allowed to flirt with DI Alex Drake while she was in the presence of the most esteemed DCI Gene Hunt. Or sometimes, even when she wasn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Psychology

**Author's Note:**

> Challenge: "I've been watching you all night."

“I've been watching you all night...” He slid into the empty seat next to her, blue eyes boring into her, undressing her beneath his gaze.

She tilted her head at him, brown curls spilling over her shoulder. “You should have said something earlier.”

“Well, I just thought, since-”

“Oi! You!”

The man from the bar jumped from his seat to a standing position in one swift move, like a teenager who just got caught getting to second base in the backseat of a car by his girlfriend's father. Which was probably very akin to what had just occurred.

After all, there were unspoken rules in Luigi's. And one of those happened to be, no bloke was allowed to flirt with DI Alex Drake while she was in the presence of the most esteemed DCI Gene Hunt. Or sometimes, even when she wasn't.

“Get!” Gene barked. With a look somewhere between apology and utter fear for his life (or, at the least, his manhood) Bloke from the Bar dashed back across the room, and Alex sighed as she slumped back in her chair, bringing her glass of wine to her lips sullenly.

“Christ, Bolly, can't leave 'ou alone for half a minute without you puttin' out the 'pen for business sign, can I?”

She gulped her wine, hoping the alcohol would drown out that itch in her fist that always came on when she wanted nothing more than to hit Gene Hunt in the face. “Do you have a bloody CCTV monitor installed in the loo?”

“Don't have that kind of money. Just call it my 'Bolly's Bein' a Tramp' extra-sense.”

Alex's eyes widened and she nodded in grim understanding. “And to think of all the nights I've lost sleep worrying you might not think I'm a whore.”

“No worries on that count,” Gene said gruffly, taking a large swig of his own wine.

Alex thought for a moment about what a wasted opportunity it was, not having poisoned his drink whilst he was gone.

She leaned on the table, propping her head up with her hand and staring him beneath her heavy-lidded eyes. The drink had already filled her system, and she was lost in her blessed cloud of gentle euphoria. “You know, Hunt, it wouldn't hurt you to be a little more secure.”

“I'm plenty secure.”

“I mean,” she whispered, shifting herself closer to him, her eyes flashing conspiratorially around the restaurant, “that if you were more secure about yourself, a woman's sexuality wouldn't threaten you.”

“There's a lot that women's sexualities do to me, Bols, and threatenin' me is not one of them.”

“Yeah, okay,” she snapped enthusiastically, her eyebrows raising as she nodded in mock agreement.

He glared at her, and Alex thought about what a beautiful shade of blue his eyes really were.

“Fine,” he said, after a long moment. Alex was pretty sure he leaned closer to her now than he did a moment ago. “What does your psychiatry say about my bloody insecurities?”

“Psychology.” Then Alex balked, backing off for a moment. “You really want to know?”

“You're gonna bloody tell me anyway, might as well pretend to be interested.”

She looked down at her wine, running a finger gently down the shaft of the wine glass. “Well, to begin, you insist that most women are whores.”

“That's been my experience.”

“But you don't actually believe it. Men who honestly believe a woman is easy take advantage of the situation. They have an entitlement to what they believe she is willing offer, whether or not it's true.” She paused a moment, as if gouging his response.

“Get to the point, Drake.”

She smiled, relishing the way he shifted uncomfortably in his seat as she took a sip of her wine. “For men like you, it's safer to label a woman as a tart. If she sleeps with you, but she's not interested in a relationship, it's because she's a whore. If she refuses you all together, you can feel better about it because a woman like her wasn't worth your time to begin with.”

Somehow, they had drifted closer together again, Alex realized. Her wine glass stood only inches away from his, and he gripped the stem gruffly in his fist. As her finger drifted gingerly back and forth, her skin brushed briefly against his hand.

“You tell a woman she's a whore because you're afraid of rejection. It's a preemptive strike against her, because you're scared of what she'll do to you. How she'll make you feel when she turns you away.”

“You're full of shit.”

Grimacing, Alex settled back in her chair, shrugging. “I'm just telling you what I see.”

“And I'm telling you,” Gene said, his tone biting, “I'm not afraid of any bloody women.”

Alex raised a finger in the air, nodding along. “Denial. The hardest step is getting past denial, you know.”

In a flash, Gene's palm was away from the glass and gripping Alex's wrist. It wasn't a tight grasp, but stern. Demanding. And those blue eyes were boring into her, and she felt unabashedly exposed.

“Let me tell you somethin', Bolly. You might think I'm afraid of women, but you know what you're afraid of? Men. Real men. Not these overdressed poofs that lounge around the bar all night with their hands down their trousers waitin' for a skirt that's pissed enough to drop on her knees. You're scared of the men who actually give a damn 'bout anythin', those men who actually might wanna know the name of the woman their huffin' over, who might actually be interested in havin' a conversation that consists of words more 'an four letters. That's why you dress the way you do, and why you spend 'alf your evenin' wavin' your arse around Luigi's and swimmin' up to your neck in spirits.”

He was still gripping her hand, and it was then she realized his face was only inches from hers. The sound of restaurant was drowned out by his voice and by the feel of his breath puffing against her lips. It was as if they were completely alone, completely naked in front of each other, all their insecurities and fears and angers exposed so sensitively to the light. Alex trembled.

“Women like you want men to think you're a whore, because if a man doesn't, he might be interested in gettin' to know you. He might have expectations you're worried you can't meet. You're the one that's afraid.”

They sat a moment, inches apart, before Alex finally found the strength to pull her hand away and distance herself from Gene's onslaught. She gasped, catching her breath, and glared at him sullenly beneath her eyelashes.

He stared at her smugly. “How's 'hat for bloody psychiatry?”

“Bastard,” Alex said, pushing herself up from the table, nearly toppling over both wine glasses in the process. She stormed away and passed the Bloke from the Bar, who eyed her over his pint. He called after her, and she offered him forked fingers in the air as she brushed by him. “You can sod off,” she barked.

At the table, Gene watched the disheveled figure of his DI disappear up the stairs, although he wasn't particularly complaining about the view. He spent the next hour thinking about how easy it was for people to learn too much about themselves in too short a period a time, and he wasn't sure what had bothered Drake more. What he had said, or the fact that she had believed he was right.

Psychology. What a load of bollocks.


End file.
